Page 7 of Yours to Keep

“I’ve been called worse, but stick with me and I’ll make you healthy.” I tucked her sheets neatly back around her and straightened up. “Ask the nurses to page me if you have any questions, alright?”

She nodded, turning her head toward the window as I left. When I stepped out into the hallway, a passing nurse, Maggie, grinned at me. “Another save?”

“Another chili dog victim,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I think she had enough of a scare to ease off on them for at least a little while, though.”

She chuckled. “You’re good with the patients. They like you. I hope she listens.”

I shrugged, already flipping through my tablet for her chart. “People just want someone to explain things without making them feel stupid.”

That was the truth of it, and I liked fixing broken things, bodies, nerves, fear. Taking a moment that felt terrifying and shrinking it down until it fit inside a breath was my passion.

Crowne or no Crowne, that part still mattered, and I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. The only question was how long I’d be able to handle all the subtle little changes our fearless new leader kept making once they turned into big ones.

After I finished documenting Joyce’s chili-dog-induced, near-death experience on my tablet, I headed back to the nurse’s station to grab my next chart. When I got there, however, I ran straight into what looked suspiciously like a medical uprising.

Six nurses and two orderlies were clustered around the counter like they were auditioning for a very tired flash mob. Shelly was at the center of it all, holding up a hospital gown between two fingers like it might be contagious.

“This is our future,” she announced grimly when I reached them.

I squinted. “Is that… paper?”

“Yep,” she confirmed. “Crowne says they’re replacing the cloth gowns. These are cheaper to dispose of than those are to clean.”

“That looks like something you wrap a sub sandwich in.” Mark, one of the orderlies, poked it with his pen and the gown made a sad crinkling sound, like it was apologizing for its very existence. “Seriously, did you guys hear that? It even sounds like opening a sub.”

“Nah, those wrappers are quality. This is much thinner,” Shelly said. “Feel it.”

Sliding my arm between the crush of bodies leaning in to do exactly what she’d suggested, I ran my fingertips along the material and cringed. “It’s so scratchy, it feels like it’s actively holding a grudge against skin.”

“Exactly,” Shelly said. “Patients already feel exposed and miserable. Now they’re going to feel like they’re wearing a damp paper towel with commitment issues on top of everything else.”

Nurse Tanya crossed her arms. “Mrs. Kline will riot.”

Mark nodded solemnly. “Mr. Alvarez will absolutely flash the entire ward out of protest. On the other hand, these are so flimsy, he won’t even need to do it on purpose. It’ll just happen.”

“Are they serious?” someone else asked, panic creeping in now. “They can’t be, can they?”

“Oh, they’re serious, alright,” Shelly said. “The first shipment came in this morning.”

I stared at the gown again, imagining Joyce wrapped in this thing. Joyce, who already believed the hospital was “out to get her” every time her meal tray didn’t have a chili-dog on it.

“This is insane,” I said.

A few heads turned toward me. Tanya reached out to pat my shoulder. “We’ll just wait for the patients to complain. That’s usually how these things go.”

“If we do that, we’ll get written up for not managing expectations,” Shelly countered. “No, thank you.”

I shook my head. “This is ridiculous. These people are sick, scared, and already half-naked. The least we can give them is fabric that doesn’t sound like it’s judging them.”

Mark raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay, but what do you propose we do? You were in that meeting. Mr. Crowne wasn’t kidding around. He literally said he doesn’t give a single fuck what we think.”

I handed the gown back to Shelly. “I refuse to be afraid to speak up.”

The station went quiet until Tanya realized what I’d just said. “Wait, you’re going to talk to him?”

“Yeah, I am.” I straightened my badge. “If this joker wants to cut costs, he can start with not printing emails that say ‘per my last message.’”

Shelly’s eyes widened. “Bree⁠—”